


sweet to taste (saccharine)

by OurLadyofPerpetualWallflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Frottage, M/M, Sex Pollen, intercurual sex, the upside down made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurLadyofPerpetualWallflowers/pseuds/OurLadyofPerpetualWallflowers
Summary: Billy wanders into the woods to beat the summer heat.Steve goes into the woods to beat some monsters.They wind up with an entirely different situation to beat.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 12
Kudos: 248





	sweet to taste (saccharine)

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for Harringrove Week of Love last year and it sat, unfinished, until this year’s HWoL which I suppose might be poetic from a certain point of view. 
> 
> I tried to fix the tenses errors but I fear I failed because if I looked at this any longer, I’d delete the whole thing.
> 
> Indescribable thanks to RaptorHonks for giving this a read and assuring me it was halfway decent. ❤️

Summer in Hawkins circa 1986 is both a blessing and a curse.

The freezing wind and damp cold that snuck under Billy’s clothes like knives had finally bled away only to be replaced with air so humid and thick it felt like the town was still covered in a heavy blanket. The townspeople act like it’s normal to go from shivering in hip-deep mounds of snow and ice to dripping sweat while mosquitoes try to eat you alive. But Billy was raised in civilization so he does whatever he can to stay cool, like getting a job at the local pool making sure nobody’s precious snot-nosed brat drowns. 

It’s boring as hell, sitting up there in the swampy summer air, feeling like he was wearing wet clothes no matter how small his shorts were, trying to read his way through the library’s collection without getting caught at it by one of Max’s Dork Troop friends. But he persists because it gets him out of the house, away from his father with his fists and words and demands, away from Susan whose eyes are too full of pity and sorrow and fear for him to stand, away from Max who hates him without a shred of an idea who he really is. 

Billy takes to walking in the woods as much as possible, in between carting Max around town and watching pasty housewives flounce back in forth in front of his lifeguard chair. The air was still stifling under the trees, the sun still beating down like a hammer, so far from the gentle warm touch of California’s sunny days tempered by cool ocean breezes and frequent trips to submerge himself in the water’s salty kisses. 

Still, if he went deep enough into the overgrown forest, where the trees towered over him like giants, if he stood very still and closed his eyes and let himself remember-the sounds of the leaves rustling in wind that never reached the ground almost sounded like waves against the sand. Almost.

Billy gets to know the woods easily, uncovers the little secrets the lush evergreens hide from the world. Caves and clearings and things like that. Like the little stream that trickles out from under a rusted and forgotten chain link fence that he tries following towards the mountains. A part of him wonders if anybody would notice if he never came out, if he followed this stream all the way back to the ocean, back home.

So Billy follows the slim stream of water, drifting farther and farther from the service road his car is parked on. He has a half a thought about discovering a lake or river of some sort back here, a spot all his own where he could swim without a midwest audience. 

He finally breaks through the thick underbrush and freezes. There’s more of the weird pink flowers that had been popping up alongside the stream for the past few feet, a lot more actually, coming together to form an almost nest-like clearing. Deep red flowers the size of his hands hang down off the trees overhead and it’s beautiful. 

It looks like a scene from a novel, something out of Xanth maybe, colors too bright and big to be natural. He takes a few cautious steps and movement catches his eye. Someone’s there, spinning around too fast and stumbling backwards in a flailing mass of pale skin and dark hair to land in a sprawl on top of the flowers.

Steve spends his summer prowling the woods like a man possessed. Bat in hand, radio in his bag along with a random assortment of things Dustin gave him when he found out what Steve was doing, he fills his empty time re-learning the woods behind his house. He’d grown up here after all, had been a little shit just like the Party at one point, had filled his days playing cops and robbers and batman and robin and crap like that over and over with Tommy and Carol and a handful of other kids who’d fallen off his radar when high school somehow convinced them they couldn’t be friends anymore. 

He thinks even Jonathan had joined them once or twice, back when his father still lived with them in the house on the corner of Cherry Hill, before a single mom’s salary had moved them to the outskirts of town.

Steve had known these woods like the back of his hand once. Had found stupid kid treasure and left junk hidden everywhere. Far enough back, farther than his parents had known they went, there was even the remains of a fort of his own, tucked away at the base of a huge tree. He’d built it the summer before he graduated middle school, had grabbed pieces from the junkyard to make walls and a roof and a floor. 

It wasn’t Castle Byers, wasn’t cozy and happy, was rather dark and empty but then, Steve didn’t have an older brother helping him build it and his mother would never have given any of her designer sheets and blankets over to make sure he wasn’t sitting on the floor like Joyce.

Now, with the woods full of monsters that were all too real, Steve had cleaned out that old lean-to and made it his base camp, a place to leave his bag and store gear he might need if he came across anything from the Upside Down. In a moment of resentment he’d snuck in an inflatable mattress from the attic and covered it with a set of his mother’s finest sheets. At least if he got trapped here fighting a monster from another dimension, he’d be comfortable.

Late one afternoon, there’s a strange scent in the air and Steve is following it like an idiot. It smells like cookies maybe, or food cooking in an oven, like his aunt’s house in Ohio at Thanksgiving during the one year his parents had decided he shouldn’t be home alone and sent him to stay with people he was related to but had never met. It’s tantalizing and mouth-watering and has no business being in the middle of the woods.

He was deeper into the trees then he’s ever gone, past even his little base camp where he’s left his gear. The air is thicker here and sweat drips down his face and soaks his shirt until he finally rips it off and tucks it into the back of his shorts to let what small breeze there is cool him off. He picks his way through a tangle of fallen limbs and around a rocky outcropping to find a little hollow in the ground completely saturated by the amazing smell coming from the odd vines covered the forest floor with tendrils of fuzzy pink things that might be flowers. 

There are big red blossoms as well, hanging down off of thick vines that engulf the trees, clumps of bright yellow pollen at their centers sending out clouds of dust to drift down to the floor. It looks magical, like a paradise. Distantly Steve thinks that it reminds him of something and he steps down into the hollow to get a closer look before a sudden rustling behind him has him turning too fast and falling on his ass right in the middle of a pillow of pink tendrils, sending up a cloud of orange dust that obscures his sight for a moment and coats him head to toe.

“Harrington?”

Hargrove’s voice sounds odd and Steve has to take a second to figure out why, hastily wiping off the dust from his face with the back of his arm. Some trick of the clearing maybe, softening the harshness and changing the pitch until it sounds more like a purr than a growl. He blinks up at the blond and feels a flush of heat spreading through his body at the sight. 

Billy’s backlit by the setting sun, golden and gleaming. He’s got his shirt off too, not that that’s anything new but Steve’s never noticed the way his muscles pull and flex as he steps closer and reaches out to extend a hand. He’s wearing tiny red shorts, shorter than even his basketball uniform and Steve is fascinated by the taut strength in his thighs. He wonders what the dark curly hair there would feel like under his fingertips, whether Billy’s tan stops at some point or just covers every inch of him. 

Billy’s wearing a fanny pack too, slung low around his hips and shoved to the side, tugging down the waistband of his shorts to reveal the swell of a hipbone and when did it get so much hotter? Steve blinks away the pollen on his face, feeling light-headed as he gets distracted by the way the yellow dust drifts down between them like the air in the Upside Down.

“Harrington.” Billy frowns at the dazed look on the other boy’s face where he’s still sprawled pliantly over the weird flowers. The air feels even thicker here, like it’s actually touching them somehow and there’s a scent like a bonfire curling through the space as well. 

“You okay, man?” He’s speaking softly for some reason and he takes a deep breath, suddenly aware of the way his own body feels as he expands his lungs and relaxes his muscles. His hand is still outstretched and it’s slowly becoming covered in pollen, tiny yellow flecks clinging to his skin. It’s almost covering Harrington, orange and yellow flecks in his hair and collecting on his eyelashes like snowflakes. He’s never seen anything like it and he bends down to get a closer look right as Harrington finally takes his hand.

Steve’s got a niggling worry in the back of his mind, something about vines and tunnels and danger but he can’t quite bring it into focus. The flowers are softer than even his mother’s fancy sheets and he’s struck with the urge to roll around in them just as Hargrove bends down with an intense look on his face. The moment-Hargrove leaning over him, filling his vision, is enough to make him recall that night at the Byers, to remember what happened after the fight, to remember vines and tunnels and danger and without thinking he grabs the hand in front of him just to have something to hold onto.

The contact of skin on skin is like nothing Billy has ever felt before. Tingling shocks dance up his arm and throughout his chest, down his legs and back up to his groin, leaving behind a feeling like the aftermath of pleasure. He’s suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat, heavy in his veins. He can almost feel his body moving to the beat and he wants to give into it, to rock and grind and rut against something in perfect time. He gets a sudden thought, a flash of image half-fantasy and half memory, of hands and skin and bodies moving together and it makes him weak at the knees. 

He stares down at Harrington and time seems to slow as he takes the other boy in with new appreciation. There are the big brown eyes he’d first seen appearing from behind a pair of Raybans, the ones like pools of melted chocolate. Thick dark hair is soaked in sweat, droplets running down his lean chest, covered in a smattering of more hair that only promises to get thicker as time goes on. There’s a mole right on at the bottom of his ribcage, at the top of the gap between his ribs and his hips, just a speckle of color against creamy alabaster and Billy wants to taste it a little bit. 

“We need to go.” Steve struggles to focus through the lightning-like feeling of Billy’s hand in his, of strong fingers and the hint of calluses that are sending ideas through his head of what those hands might feel like on his chest, his hips, his thighs. He doesn’t want to stand up. Actually he wants to pull Billy down with him and roll around and get some friction against his suddenly straining erection and that alone is enough to make him lurch to his feet, tightening his grip on Billy’s hand for balance.

Billy groans at the sudden pressure. It feels like Harrington’s got ahold of his dick, like he’s squeezing the head of it just right, thumb rubbing over the slit, and Billy’s hips twitch forward involuntarily. He’s burning up all of a sudden, skin itching and tight like a sunburn everywhere but where he’s touching Harrington and as soon as he thinks that, his body makes the logical connection and closes the distance between them, presses right up against Harrington as much as he can. 

Billy’s face finds the curve of his shoulder, his mouth the tendons in Harrington’s neck. He tastes like the ocean, salty and rich, and Billy hears himself moan as he sucks it down, free hand coming up to fist that dark hair and tilt Harrington’s head back for better access. 

Billy’s body is like a furnace, heat rolling off him in waves like a fever and it should be uncomfortable as warm as Steve is but instead it relaxes him like a hot shower on sore muscles. Something inside him that’s been clenched tight for too long unfurls and he sighs as Billy’s mouth latches onto his neck, the warm, wet feel of him sucking a mark reaching all the way down through his torso to the tip of his cock and then reverberating back in a loop of delicious pleasure. 

Steve follows the tug on his hair easily, letting Billy have access to whatever he wants. His own free hand has come up to grip Billy’s hipbone and he can’t stop himself from letting it slide around and down to palm that perfect ass. Still, he knows they need to leave this place, these flowers, and his lust-addled brain helpfully reminds him that his base camp has a bed. The thought has him groaning low, hips grinding against Billy’s, friction stoking the fire within him even higher.

“Bed. We need to-there’s a bed.”

Billy growls at the word, slipping his thigh between Steve’s legs and licking up his neck to his ear, breath hot and voice wrecked. 

“Where?”

Steve tugs at their still joined hands, pulls him forward by the hand on his ass back in the direction he came from.

“This way. Base camp. No flowers. God, you feel good.” The last is whined out as he rocks against that thick thigh. They’ve managed a few steps in the right direction but he’s so hard, it hurts and Billy feels so good and he just wants to come.

“Yeah? You gonna cream your pants for me?” 

Steve pants as he realizes he said that last bit out loud and then there’s a tree against his back and Billy pressed up against his front, moving just right, and yes, yes, he is. 

“That’s it, come for me, pretty boy.”

“Ohhhhh.” Harrington’s mouth falls open and his head falls back as he jerks helplessly. There’s a rush of warmth against his leg and Billy glances down to see the dark spot on his blue shorts right as his own release tries to overtake him. He holds himself back by force of will, silently chanting bed, bed, bed over and over to remind himself what’s waiting for him even though he feels like his dick is about to fall off if he doesn’t come soon. Harrington’s eyes are heavy-lidded, chest heaving and tiny tremors still shaking him. Billy moves his leg to relieve the pressure only to freeze when he realizes Harrington’s still hard.

“Fuck, are you-fuck.” Billy swears and leans back in, grinds down again, and Harrington’s hand tightens its grip on his ass in response. It sends forbidden desire through him, makes him want to drop down to his back and spread his legs, let Harrington touch all of him, inside and out. He shudders and lets his head drop forward to rest on Steve’s shoulder, absent-mindedly licking traces of pollen off his lips. It tastes sweet, sickeningly so, and it coats the inside of his throat as he swallows. 

He pulls back just enough to get them moving again except, where were they going? His legs feel weak, shaky like he overdid it with leg presses and tried to lift too heavy a weight. He’s so hot, he’s actually cold and his skin crawls everywhere Steve isn’t touching him. His vision is blurry, heart racing, and somewhere in the back of his brain, he knows this isn’t normal but all he can think about right now is covering himself in Steve and never, ever coming up for air and that’s both terrifying and something Billy wants so badly it hurts.

“Come on, come on.” Steve urges them on, never dropping his hand but using his body to push them through the trees, practically dragging the bigger boy when Billy stumbles and trips over his feet. They stop a half a dozen times to rut up against each other, to bite and scratch but they manage to make it to the pitiful excuse for a shelter Steve’s built. They have to part to crawl inside and it’s painful-the act of peeling themselves apart like taking off their own skin. 

Billy scrambles gracelessly inside first on his hands and knees, limbs jerky and uncoordinated, and the sight of those red shorts barely covering his ass has Steve crowding against him, mouth-watering as he reaches under the thin fabric to dig his fingers into the muscles there. Billy makes a sound like a wounded animal and drops down to his forearms, face buried in his fists, back arched and presenting and Steve’s brain finally short-circuits.

Steve shoves the material to the side and sinks his teeth into one pale globe, pulling back only to move higher, leaving a line of red marks like he’s signing his name. Billy tenses, something like a sob coming out as he comes, release splattering against the dusty floor beneath him. 

Steve pulls himself up Billy’s body, one hand scrabbling at the button of his shorts to rip it open and get his hand around his dick. He gets his mouth on whatever he can: the bumps of Billy’s spine, the edge of a shoulder blade, the curve of his neck. Billy’s shaking under him, shoving his hips back even as he swears under his breath.

“Fuck, I need you-want you to-” He cuts off as Harrington gets an arm around his chest, hand wrapping around the base of his throat for balance as he slips his cock through the opening of Billy’s shorts and in between his legs, head of his cock bumping the underside of Billy’s sac as he thrusts a few times until he lines them up just right and then everything is a blur of movement and pleasure and _Steve_.

Steve comes back to himself like a switch-one minute he’s floating on a cloud of orgasm and the next he feels like he’s dying. He’s still pressed against Billy’s back, still hard jesus christ, and Billy’s shaking so badly, he’s practically convulsing where he lays against the ground. Steve swears and gets his knees under him, rolling Billy over onto his back. Hargrove’s eyes are clenched shut and he’s breathing hard through his nose like he’s holding off pain. Veins in his forehead are bulging out and he’s so red he almost looks like he’s on fire. Steve feels something like fear in his gut, trying to cut through the arousal that unnaturally burns in his belly. 

“Billy? Billy, say something.” Steve cups his cheek and Billy’s eyes open wide, pupils blown and filled with uncertainty. He whispers something and Steve leans down to try and hear it. “What?”

“...hurts...need you...please…” The words are breathy sobs and a tear leaks out of one eye to trail down to blond curls. Steve feels a surge of something rise up in him, a sudden need to wrap himself around Billy and hide him away from the world.

“Okay.” Steve swallows and presses his lips to Billy’s brow before getting his hands under Billy’s armpits and half dragging him to the mattress in the corner. Billy’s erection trapped in the twisted remains of his shorts and Steve can feel it against his stomach as they move, every brush sending shocks through his body and wringing little tortured moans out of Billy. 

Steve still feels the low burn of lust under his veins but Billy looks almost delirious with it and it’s only as Steve’s struggling out of his jeans that he notices he’s covered not only in the yellow pollen but also streaks of a darker orange version. He remembers falling into the pink tendrils, remembers the cloud of dust that had engulfed him, remembers Billy’s sucking the mixture off his skin. Shit.

He looks back at Billy and notices the fast breathing, too shallow to be any good. The tiny movements of his hips, the almost purple look of his cock where the head peeks out of his shorts. The traces of yellow and orange on his face, his mouth. Steve leans back over him, pressing himself against Billy’s fever-heat as he does and cups his face again, tilting his head to try and get Billy to focus on him.

“Billy? Billy, talk to me, man, come on. What-” He swallows, takes a breath and tries to think through the rising desire that just touching Billy is causing. “What do you need, what can I do?”

Billy’s body arches up and his only thought is to get closer to Harrington, to crawl inside him or no, to let Harrington crawl inside Billy. He feels like opening his chest and yanking out his lungs, his heart, anything and everything he needed to in order to make a space if only Steve would agree to step inside and never leave. He feels beyond empty. He feels cavernous, hollow, like there’s a void in the pit of his stomach and he’s just never noticed. 

It’s like hunger but worse, starvation on another level. Billy hears Steve’s voice, feels his hand on his face and he wants to sob, it’s so good and at the same time not enough. His limbs feel weighted down but he manages to move, to shift his hips until Steve’s are cradled in the vee of his pelvis, thick arousal pressed up against him through his shorts. 

He does sob then, a weak sound of torment as he tries to speak. His mouth is dry, his tongue heavy and swollen and is he dying? He might be dying but he can’t be sure, it’s so hard to think past the need burning through him. He takes a deep breath just to feel Steve’s weight press against him more and he manages to breath out an answer to Steve’s question.

“...want you..please...so bad..” 

Steve has to slam his eyes shut and bite his lip to hold off the wave of lust that wants to overtake him. Surely Billy’s not saying what he thinks he is but the way he’s clinging to Steve, the shaking movements of his hips and the way he comes back to himself the smallest amount when Steve gets close…

He feels hot breath on his cheek and Steve opens his eyes to meet Billy’s. The blue is almost gone, lost in the fathomless black of his dilated pupils but Steve can still read them, can still see the begging and the beckoning within and it has him pressing his lips to Billy’s without a thought, only wanting to reassure him that Steve wasn’t going anywhere. 

He realizes his mistake a split second too late, the pollen sticky and gritty between their mouths until Billy moans and opens his lips, tongue coming out to sweep over Steve’s and dip inside and then Steve feels like someone’s turned up the heat full blast, any release his previous orgasms had gained him washed away with the single desire to claim the body beneath him. 

Steve rakes his hands down Billy’s body, nails leaving red lines in their wake as he brutally removes the clothing keeping them apart. His head is spinning, grey dots dancing in front of his eyes and he can only see Billy spread underneath him, can only think about how hot he feels, the way Billy’s own heat mimics his, how perfect it would be to claim him, cover that body in his release, mark him as his own. 

But Steve shoves it back, claws at his own mouth and spits the taste of pollen out, feels the heat recede just enough to put himself back in the driver’s seat. He has to do something, has to get Hargrove back as well, has to get him off and get him through this. He swallows hard and spares a thought to hope Hargrove doesn’t murder him after this is over with.

Steve reaches down and grips his cock, still wet and covered from coming twice before, and gathers as much of the sticky substance as he can. He kicks his shorts off the rest of the way, heart twisting at the whine Billy makes when he moves away and he quickly presses himself back down against his overheated skin. It takes a minute for Steve to get into position, nestled between Billy’s muscular thighs, one hand braced against his chest, and in that time Billy’s breathing begins to hitch, like his throat’s closing up. 

“No, no, no. Billy?” Steve leans over to cup his face, presses their fronts together hard, rubs up against him as much as he can. “Billy, come on, baby, stay with me, okay? I’m gonna take care of it.”

Steve presses their foreheads together as he gets a hand around both of their cocks, body jerking at the sheer rush of pleasure the touch brings. Billy gasps and a weak hand finds his flank, grips it lightly, and that just adds to the view Steve’s is privy to as he looks down between their bodies.

The thing is, Steve isn’t blind and for all that he’s never looked at Billy with this in mind, he had still looked at him, has seen the tanned skin and the firm muscles and the curling blond hair that just begs for a fist in it. Billy looks good on a bad day-had even looked good snarling and sobbing as he drove his fists into Steve’s face-but like this...like this he looks like another level of good. 

Bone and muscles wrapped in golden skin flushed pink, bared not to the world but to Steve alone, as if Steve was the only world he knew. If the Upside Down was something from hell, then Billy looked like something from the exact opposite, a creature from heaven if heaven came with thick cocks dripping pearly pre-cum onto sculpted abs. 

Billy feels like he’s burning. There’s a restless fire under his skin, a strange urge pushing at him to movehuntfindfuckspawn that’s completely foreign to him and he’s terrified he’s going insane as much as he’s becoming convinced he’s going to die if he doesn’t come in the next five seconds but oh, oh Steve is here. Steve’s cool skin is back on his, long fingers rearranging Billy’s legs so he fits between them better, so that his thigh can press right where Billy needs it the most, perfectly situated for him to rock his throbbing arousal against. 

It’s so much better, like cool water on sunburned skin, Steve’s body on top of his, keeping him contained and safe and giving him something to rut against as he chases his pleasure, muttering encouragement in his ear. 

“Yeah? That feels good, huh?” Steve slides his hand up their lengths and then back down, smearing his come over the heads and mixing it with the precum bubbling out. “That make it better?”

Billy tries to answer, mouth working around a gasp, but the best he can manage is to tilt his hips up more, back bowing as he thrusts into the tight grip of Steve’s hand.

“Yeah, shit yeah, come on, that’s it Billy.” Steve cozes him on, twists his hand on the upstroke and rubs his thumb over the leaking tip. Billy whines back in response, he left words behind somewhere in the woods, but he grips Steve harder with his legs, locks his ankles behind Steve’s back and hangs on as best he can. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t fight it, fuck I wanna-you gotta let go, let it happen, c’mon.”

Steve coaxes him, guides his hips as they rock up against him, and Billy feels like he’s shaking apart, like if he’s not careful he’ll shatter into a million pieces-

“Fuckfuckfuck, you can, it’s alright, shit I’m gonna come, damnit, you-you gotta come, Billy, _come.”_

Billy shatters, shaking and groaning and the feeling of warm release hitting his belly a pale echo of the way Steve’s heat feels pressing him into the ground.

“..Steve.” Billy’s voice is breathy and Steve would never have heard it if he hadn’t been pressed as close as he was. He glances up from what he’s doing to catch Billy’s eyes and tries to smile even as he keeps up the long, gentle strokes.

“Welcome back.” He twists his hand right at the top of the stroke and Billy shudders under him. The hand on his knee tightens and another comes up to grab the arm holding him up, fingers like a brand around Steve’s bicep. 

“-the fuck?” Billy croaks out and Steve can’t help the way his hips buck against him at the word. 

“God, I hope not. There’s nothing in this place I wanna use for that.” He speeds up, the sheer amount of precum and previous release they’ve generated making it slick and easy, and Billy groans again.

The fire eating at his brain has dimmed again, enough for Billy to try and make some connections even as he ignores the sheer ecstasy that Steve’s skin against his is bringing him.

“The flowers, the-fuck-the pollen?” Billy’s panting, breath hot over Steve’s throat, inhaling the scent of sweat and sugar and Steve and it makes him thrust up harder harder, move faster, chasing the curl of pleasure that’s unfurling at the base of his spine.

“Yeah. You really, ah, really need to learn to keep your mouth to yourself.” Steve has to close his eyes now, the sight of their dicks in his grip too much, the feel of Billy’s sweat and cum soaked skin against his sending impossible images through his mind again.

“Ohhh, but-” Billy shifts under him, gets a hand around them too and that’s so much better as Steve whimpers. He shouldn’t be so close again, he came twice already, he shouldn’t be feeling his orgasm barreling towards him like a train but he is, he is, and Billy isn’t helping. “You taste so good, sweetheart.”

It’s the word that does it. Sweetheart. Said so low and rough and like he means it, like Billy would be here under him even if he hadn’t stumbled into a patch of other-diminsional sex flowers, like he’s thought about this before and Steve’s body is clenching up, body arching forward to get as close as possible as he shivers and shakes through yet another orgasm.

Steve collapses on top of Billy, limbs weak from the aftershocks still going through him, and he barely has enough brainpower to try and move but Billy’s legs are wrapped around his waist and his hands are in his hair and Steve didn’t want to move anyway. They lay there, breathing hard and coming down, until Steve suddenly realizes that their hips are rocking together again, slowly but surely.

‘Are you kidding me?” Billy groans, part arousal and part agony. Harrington feels perfect pressing him down into this mattress, all sweat slicked skin and cool to the touch. He digs his fingers into the other boy’s scalp just because and tries to think. “How...nnngh, how long you think this’ll last?”

Steve is grinding against him again, making slow little circles with his hips. The pressure is too much too soon and yet feels perfect. Billy has to bite his lip to avoid kissing him again.

“Dunno, I’m not-” Steve kisses him anyway, tongue prodding until it can slip inside Billy’s mouth and map over his palette. He sucks on Billy’s bottom lip as he pulls back, pupils blown wide and hair hanging down over his face. “Not an expert on sex flowers.” 

The way his voice sounds saying sex is the best thing Billy’s ever heard. He wants to record it and play it back later, wants a cassette tape of nothing but Harrington saying the filthiest things imaginable. 

Fire is licking at his skin once more and he can feel his heart pounding again, feels a burning kind of longing building back up in the core of him, somewhere near the base of his spine. He’s getting frantic with it again, hands almost spasming where he’s gripping pale flesh and he tries to keep it together long enough to wrap a fist around their frankly disgustingly cum covered erections.

“Fuck.” Steve whines out at the feeling of Billy’s hand on his sensitive skin. He’s never gone this many rounds before, never been this revved up for another person’s touch. Not even Nancy had gotten inside his head this deeply. But even as the heat blooms deep in his gut again, Steve’s thoughts are clearer, his movements more controlled. “I think it’s fading.”

Billy hums and digs his heels into the meaty flesh of Steve’s ass. 

“Once more into the breach, pretty boy?” Billy manages to grin, tongue playing over his teeth. Filthy images flash through Steve’s mind and he knows that’s not the pollen, that’s him, and he flushes as he grinds down hard just to watch Billy’s eyes roll back.

“Don’t say shit like that when your hands on my fucking cock.” He hisses.

And Billy’s gone, over the edge and exploding into shards but Steve’s right there with him, pressing him down, pressing him back together and that’s good, that’s nice, if Steve can just stay right there while the blackness takes over then maybe all the pieces of Billy will still be here when he wakes up. 

Billy swims back up from the darkness in lazy strokes, stretching and relaxing his pleasantly sore body with the kind of syrupy slowness that he only finds after a good workout or a fun party or a night of really good-

Full consciousness returns like a wave breaking over him and Billy freezes in place as the memories of how he got so sore snap into place. He’s sore because of a night spent having inhuman amounts of really, really good sex. Sex with a boy. Sex with Steve Harrington who happens to be the owner of the warm body splayed across him. 

“Harrington.” Billy whispers. Nothing. He considers the bare shoulder on his chest, the dark mass of hair brushing against his neck, the warm breath rushing over his collarbone...he grins and raises a hand only to let it fall heavily onto the pale globe of Steve’s bare ass, taking far too much pleasure in the way Harrington jolts as the lud smack breaks the silence.

“Jesus fuck! What the-” Steve scrambles to his knees, eyes wide and blinking harshly in the sunlight. He takes in Billy-naked and sprawled over the mattress, dried cum flaking off of his skin in frankly concerning amounts-and then his eyes slam shut as he recalls the events that brought him here. “Shit.”

“You’re real eloquent in the mornings aren’t you, sweetheart?” Billy snorts. Steve twitches at the word and Billy can’t help glancing down to see his half-hard dick laying against his thigh. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Shut up.” Steve covers himself with his hands and looks away for a moment, trying to ignore his immediate reaction to Billy’s use of that word. ‘We uh. We need to shower. Make sure the pollen is off. And then I need to make a call, tell somebody who can get some weapons grade weedkiller out here and get rid of that...that..”

“Fuck garden?” Billy suggests as he holds up the ruined remains of his shorts before tossing them into the corner and rolling to his feet. Steve is momentarily distracted by the play of muscles under skin. He must still have traces of the pollen in his system.

“Got any ideas about where we can hose off? Not that I’m shy,” Billy scratches at a patch of dird jizz on his chest. “But I think we’d scandalize the town if we walked home like this.”

Steve reaches up without thinking and Billy easily grips his hand and pulls him to his feet. They stand there, a few inches too close, and Billy’s mouth waters at the memory of the taste of Steve’s sweat soaked skin. 

“I have a pool at my house. It’s not far.” Steve’s hand is still gripping Billy’s, and the feel of his calluses against Steve’s palm is distracting. 

“A pool?” Billy remembers, distantly, following a stream in search of a private swimming hole. He lets his gaze rake down Steve’s bare skin and back up, grin widening as he caught Steve’s eyes, dark brown slowly disappearing as his pupils dilated. “Lead the way, pretty boy. I’m all yours.”


End file.
